


Boys Don't Cry

by WizardLizard0



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inigo is a good friend, Intoxication, M/M, No Smut, Original Character(s), Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Sad, dragonborn oc, idk if its platonic or not you ask me, platonic love??, references to dawnguard dlc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20193397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardLizard0/pseuds/WizardLizard0
Summary: Varek, Skyrim's least honorable Dragonborn, is not good at dealing with his emotions. He is especially not good at handling grief. When his past comes blaring right into his eyes and is turned into a painful reality, the only person he has to comfort him is his best friend, Inigo. Best solution? Get drunk and cry a little.





	Boys Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with the idea for this fic like two years ago. Yes, it takes me that dang long to write literally anything. It wasn't until this summer where it had any genuine meaning to me. It was kind of just a simple idea. Oh, my dragonborn started off as a vigilant of Stendarr. When he sees the hall of the vigilants burned down bc of the dawnguard DLC, he'd get upset. The meaning for this fanfic became a lot more deeper over the summer, when someone really important to me passed away. Sure, writing about my OC insert and a mod that I fell in love with is a really, really weird way to cope, but it's my way to cope. After around like, 3/4 of the way through the fic, I took a month long break. I guess so that I had a little more time to grieve or something. I don't know. I was reluctant to even post this or even give an explanation as to why I wrote this. Let's face it. Not a lot of people are going to read this, and they certainly aren't going to read my couple of hundred word notes about why I wrote it in the first place. I just needed a way to vocalize stuff, I suppose. So here it is. Here's my shitty fanfic which I vented through my dumbass OC and a character who I love dearly.

"Oh there once was a hero named Inigo the Brave who came walking from the bottom to the top of this hill-”

“Inigo.”

“Oh-- sorry-- my bad, I forgot. No more singing bad parodies of Ragnar the Red when we’re on serious missions.”

Going to have a little chat with the Daedric Prince of Destruction was indeed a very serious mission. It had been, at least, until both Varek and Inigo got lost on the way there from Dawnstar. Now they didn’t know where the fuck they were going, and the gods only made it worse by putting snowfall and cold winds upon them.

Up the hill they went trudging heavily through the thick blanket of snow. Little snowflakes fell to the ground, adding onto the endless layers of frost and snow on their armours and furs. Not even Inigo’s fur was enough to keep him warm, nonetheless Varek and his mass quantity of clothing either. It was a cold day, and with cold days brought even colder moods.

Inigo had been the first to reach the top of the hill, and the first to start walking down from it. 

“Varek-- don’t--” he breathed.

Varek’s icy stare narrowed on the blue khajiit. “Don’t what?”

The sheer look of absolute determination had been plastered on his face. His strides grew longer and quicker. The pain in his calves eminent from their walk. He ignored the look that his friend had been giving him and went right on past him. Maybe if he had stopped to see the sorrowful look on Inigo’s face, he might have reconsidered what he was doing and pushed aside his stubbornness. Instead, he kept on going.

There he was, finally at the top of the hill, and for once in Varek’s life he regretted having been so terribly stubborn.

Up the hill could be seen as what was once the Hall of the Vigilants, now a burnt and desecrated version of its once former self. The place that he had once called home was now engulfed in bright orange flames that danced and twirled around the smoke lingering in the air. Both of which grew higher and higher with each passing second.

If the flames weren’t enough, then the bodies were. The corpses of the preachy, annoying assholes that he knew from his time at the hall littered the ground, painting the snow crimson with their blood.

There was no simple way to describe the way that Varek was feeling at this very instance. Shocked could only be used lightly. There was no word in any language that he knew of that could pinpoint this exact, horrific, intense emotion of such shock, fear, and grief that he was feeling. Especially so suddenly. The whole world had simply stopped and closed in on this very moment. The gods themselves, both Aedra and Daedra had stopped their daily meddling to look down upon the dragonborn and his terror. 

His face went white. His body ceased to work. His knees trembled and wobbled like gelatin. Not even his eyes could turn away from the sight in which they were being forced to see.

In the corner of his vision he could catch the sight of Inigo running up towards him. The khajiit kneeled in front of him, saying words that Varek could not make out or understand. Every word that was said was gibberish, and it flew over his head like a harsh breeze. The world spun, his head gave a thrust, and everything around him turned into a blur. That was when his knees gave out and he collapsed into the snow.

The whole world disappeared, and everything went black. 

  
  


“I’d like an ale, and my friend here will take the strongest thing you’ve got.”

The innkeeper, Thoring, gave Inigo a curt nod, only paying Varek a second of his attention so that he could glance suspiciously in his direction. 

Inigo grinned and patted Varek on the shoulder. “Drinks are on me, friend!”

After Varek had so ungraciously fell face first into the snow, one could easily presume that it had been Inigo who carried him all the way back to the Windpeak inn in Dawnstar. No one else would have willingly carried Varek back to safety unless you paid them. Only Inigo liked him enough to help out the ex vigilant of Stendarr and former chaotic douchebag. 

A room had been bought and there Varek remained unconscious for a few more hours. When he woke, he had the misfortune of still being able to recollect the past events. 

“Thank you, Inigo.” Varek made sure to authenticate the genuity of his thanks by smiling at his best friend, who returned it with mutual sincerity. The aureate lighting of the tavern was enough to bring out the Khajiit’s eyes of gold. When it was added with a smile, it made those eyes sparkle in such an ostentatious manner that it was alluring to even the least likeliest of people. It didn’t matter who you were, this big furry oaf could warm the coldest of hearts. 

Thoring set down two mugs in front of the pair then went back to his usual business of contending with other patrons. They both took the tankards in hand, raised them high enough in the air, and drank in a synchronized fashion. In a silent unison they chugged their drinks, though it was Inigo who had been the first to choose to put it down. The Dragonborn, on the other hand, kept on drinking, letting the liquid burn the back of his throat and dribble down his chin with each sip; all while Inigo watched in utter perplexity. 

When the tankard was down to its last few drops, Varek slammed it down on the bar and waved for more. The innkeep looked over in his direction, got the hint, and took his drink in order to get him what he rightfully deserved: more alcohol. 

Inigo was still working on the other half of what he left, sipping dutifully on his ale. 

“Wow, you sure drank that fast.” He laughed. Two more drinks were sat in front of them, though Inigo only eyed the one Varek took into his hands without touching the one given to him. 

“Listen, I know that this may not be my place but as your friend I just want to make sure that you are okay. Are you… okay?” Inigo asked. 

Inigo’s eyes were locked on him like a target, but Varek dared not to return the gaze and stared into his drink. He had been expecting this question sooner or later, he just wasn’t sure whether this was the sooner, or the later. Judging by how the bar patrons that came in for the busy part of the night were finally strolling in, perhaps it was the latter. 

“No. I don’t think I am.” His voice croaked barely above a monotonous whisper. He put his lips on the rim, allowing a small amount of the liquid to slip into his mouth. The taste was bitter, but strong nonetheless. “I know that the Vigilants were a bunch of intolerable, preachy dingbats with giant sticks shoved all the way up their arse’s, but what happened… they-- they didn’t deserve that.”

Inigo nodded. “No one deserves that. Well, almost no one. I can think of a few expectations-- anyways, that’s a whole ‘nother conversation for some other time. Continue.”

“Stendarr teaches his followers to welcome all. The afflicted, the heretics, and even the hopeless and the forgotten. That was me. I was hopeless and the forgotten. Th-they… they took me in… when no one else wanted me. Now they’re… now… they-- they’re…” The words struggled to come out. His throat rasped the closer he got to saying  _ it _ . It was strangling his voice, clutching his vocal cords to prevent him from saying it out loud for the whole world to hear; for  _ himself  _ to hear. If he spoke of it, then it would become a reality. 

His hand shook. At long last, it was finally beginning to set in. It was becoming a painful reality. All of the emotions that had been locked up so tightly had been unleashed, and they were flooding in quicker than he could handle. It pained him to take a drink. His only solace was no longer possible. Through all of his pathetic attempts to suck in those tears and be a man, he couldn’t. He flung the drink down, the force of the impact causing alcohol to slosh out. Then, his forehead met the surface of the counter. 

People were staring, but it didn’t matter. 

Like any other true man would do he began to cry. Releasing all of that grief all at once was tough when everyone who knew him as the legendary Dragonborn were there to stop and gawk. 

Bearing great caution, Inigo placed a gentle hand on his upper back as he cried. His hand moved in soothing little circles and he didn’t say a single word. He just sat there and allowed Varek to have his moment to cry; to let it all out without worrying about any verbal disturbances. 

The tears kept on coming. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence to see this man cry like he was now. It wasn’t even crying, it was full on sobbing. It was loud and ugly and definitely causing a scene. Only  _ The Dragonborn Comes  _ and the inn’s chatter being louder than normal was enough to drown him out. Nothing could stop the relentless shaking of his entire person and the waterfall of tears, though. 

When he lifted his head, he had left behind a puddle of tears. The sobbing had dwindled and his common sense slowly made a comeback. The hand on the curvature of his back had yet to leave, and neither did the look of concern painted on Inigo’s face.

The music began to soften, though the crowd’s noise remained the same.

“Look,” Inigo began, his hand falling back to his side and grabbing onto the edge of the stool. “I understand what you’re going through. I know that no one can make it better, not even the necromancers. No one can truly bring back what you have lost. You can do anything and I will be there through all of it. You cannot allow this to be your downfall though.

“When Fergus died, I couldn’t deal with it. I would have done anything to have him back. It didn’t help that I had no one there, nothing to make it better. Skooma and drinking can only temporarily stop the pain that you feel.” He was doing it again. He was looking him straight in the eyes.

“Just know that no matter what, I will be there for you through thick and thin. Nothing will stop me from being there as your best friend. Mister Dragonfly will also be here for you, and offers his condolences.”

If the speech in itself wasn’t enough to absolutely shatter him, the goofy little sharp toothed grin that Inigo gave him was obliterating. The tears threatened to come back. 

Varek grabbed his drink, gulped, and offered the world’s saddest grin a man could give. He lunged forward and wrapped strong arms around his friend, sniffling. 

“Thank you, Inigo,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The music was gone, the talk absent. The whole world was silent and the gods watched from afar. 

  
  
  


The bard was awful, but that didn’t stop Varek from telling her to play louder every single time he requested a song. 

Everything was, for the most part, how it  _ should  _ be. No one had questioned the breakdown he had and kept to their drinks. Everyone in the inn had been more than grateful when after Varek’s third drink, he offered to single-handedly pay for everyone’s liquor. 

Out of the two, Varek had been the one to have way too much to drink. 

They were all having a wonderful time talking with the townspeople and causing a ruckus. The fire had only needed to be rekindled once by the time they were on their fifth round of drinks. The pair was drunk off their asses, singing songs so loud that their throats were raw and their voices turned hoarse. 

“And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooooooore… When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!!!” Inigo and Varek sang in an almost perfect unison, and at the end of the song they both raised their tankards and clinked them together. 

Varek had an arm wrapped around Inigo’s shoulder, holding onto him like you might do to someone with a more intimate relationship than what they had. It was more for his own sake so that he could hold onto the Khajiit for leverage and not sway around like the drunken idiot he was. 

One large swig and an even larger grin accompanied each other. The bard had received another reluctant applause from the audience, that of which she took with no notice of their reluctance. She stood close by the blazing fire-pit and strummed at her lute, wearing a rather coy smile.

Varek pointed his finger and the bard. “Aye, gorgeous! Karita, is it? I ‘unno, whatever yer name is. Play the song about me again. Make it flashy though.”

He shot a wink at her, and whether she made any kind of response to it was unbeknownst to him. He had already been to busy dragging Inigo to the other side of the tavern. 

“My friend--”

The Dragonborn took no notice, trampling over baskets and other mysterious items that littered the stone floor instead. He was way more clumsy about sitting down at one of the tables facing the wall. There had been a great struggle to pull out the bench or sit down without knocking the mess of plates and silverware off of the table. 

“Are you having fun, buddy?!” Varek shouted as he sat down. Both the background noise and the obnoxious singing of the bard made normal, private conversation a difficult task. He ushered for Inigo to sit down, the light that hit his face bringing out the flush of his pale cheeks and the long scar splayed across his nose. 

“I am!” Inigo shouted back and clambered his way onto the bench aside from Varek. “I do think we should settle in for the night though!

“Why would you possibly think that? The night isn’t even close to being halfway over!”

“Well, if I am honest, I think we both have gone a bit overboard with our drinks. If we put a hold on it for tonight we may be able to wake up with clear minds.”

“But-”

“And! We have to talk to that Daedric Prince guy. You don’t want another scary evil dude mad at us for something else. Remember last time--”

It may have been a bit of a surprise to see Varek splutter and shake his head in such a quick and frantic manner. He waved his hands. “Fine. Don’t need to remind me. Go get us rooms and we’ll call it a night.”

  
  
  


“Sorry, there’s only one room left.” 

Inigo’s mouth fell agape and he lifted a finger, though no words came out. In his hand was twenty gold pieces, and yet the innkeeper would only take ten. 

The night was beginning to slow down. Many of the people who had been just as loud as him and Varek had paid their tabs and left. Karita, the bard, had also stopped for the night. Everything was considerably more peaceful than it had been only a mere twenty or so minutes before. 

“Only one room. Got it. Just take the ten then and we’ll take the room.”

Ten gold pieces fell to the top of the counter. The innkeep was especially quick to scoop them up at once and bite down on a single piece. “It’ll be the room to your right.”

Off in the not very far distance was Varek. There he was with his head resting on the table. His hand was still attached to his drink, though it looked as if he hadn’t touched the liquid itself for a few minutes or more. 

There is no need to write down this part in full, lengthy detail, no matter how much the reader may long to read about the ten minute struggle it took for Inigo to convince and help up the heavily intoxicated man. It was just like how you would picture it. A blue Khajiit spent minutes persuading the man to get rid of his drink, and took even longer trying to pry the Dragonborn and all of his mass off the seat in which he sat in. Practically carrying him was even worse. Inigo may have had a decent amount of strength, and yet it had barely been enough to drag Varek into their cramped little room. The man was inches over six feet, and easily two hundred pounds. 

Somehow, in the chaos of it all, the set of Daedric armor that he wore was off and in a pile over in the corner of the room, long to be forgotten until late in the morning when his inevitable hangover diminishes. There was Varek, finally laying in the bed. Wisps of black hair covered his face, and through the midst of the clumps, an icy stare was centered right on Inigo.

He adjusted himself, scooting closer to the wall, and patted the extremely small space left onto the bed. 

"Lay down."

"Uh, I'm quite alright. I can sleep over there." Inigo pointed a finger. Sitting right beside the bed was a chair, an uncomfortable looking chair from what anyone could tell, what with the fact that it looked too small for a large child to sit in, but a chair nonetheless. 

"No," Varek said. "You're gonna sleep in the bed and deal with me. I'm not letting my friend sleep in a chair while I enjoy this shitty bed all for myself." 

Inigo opened his mouth to object, and then:

"Please, Inigo?"

There was no use in arguing. Inigo knew that. Varek knew that. Everyone knew. 

The Khajiit clambered into the bed, his backside right against Varek's front. There was an awkwardness to it, for sure. The pungent scent of alcohol reeked off Varek. Inigo might have told him he stunk if he hadn't known that he most likely smelled as bad as him. 

They laid in that bed for what felt like hours without saying a word. As time drew on, Inigo felt more comfortable in the position they were in. Some time ago, an arm had wrapped around him; whether it was on purpose or not was beyond knowing, and it wasn't like Inigo cared that much anyways. Both of the men embraced the warmth of each other like they had embraced their drinks not long ago. It was an intoxicating snuggle-session, in all seriousness. 

The blessed blanket of sleep was finally beginning to drape over Inigo, after so long without it. It had just about fully engulfed him, when he heard a body shuffle behind him, and what almost sounded like a sniffle. 

"Inigo," Varek whispered, the hold he had on him getting tighter. 

"Yes, my friend?"

"Thank you. I don't know what else to say other than just- thank you. I don't think I can handle any of this by myself."

Inigo was so close to falling into the bliss of sleep, but he held onto reality for a minute longer.

He yawned. "Don't thank me. I'm doing this because... because you need it. I think I would have done a lot better if- if someone had helped me through all the death I had dealt with." 

Inigo could feel Varek nod, but he didn't add on anything else.

It hadn't been until Inigo had let his grip go and was drifting far, far into sleep, when a hardly recognizable sentence floated in the room, perhaps coming from Varek's side of the bed. Unfortunately, it had been too late for either of the men to know or remember the sentence. They had both fallen too hard into their slumber to speak or hear a reply. The true meaning would cease to be what it meant at that moment. Although the sentence would not be remembered on the morning to come-- partly due to the curse of sleepy minds and the fogginess of hangovers-- it might have been something along the lines of this:

" _ I love you, my friend _ ."


End file.
